


Into the Breeze

by CharryWotter



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Howard Moon, includes other franchises that noel and julian are in, lowkey slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharryWotter/pseuds/CharryWotter
Summary: After a misunderstanding that blows up into a fight, Vince and Howard are separated and thrown into alternate universes. Forced to deal with other versions of each other and trying to make it back home, the two will have to come to terms with how they truly feel about each other...before it's too late.
Relationships: Howard Moon & Vince Noir, Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21
Collections: Boosh Secret Santa 2020!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acyborglostintimeandspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acyborglostintimeandspace/gifts).



It was a windy November afternoon in Dalston, and inside the Nabootique, a storm was brewing.

Vince was deep in his closet, standing amid hangers and hangers of clothes, frantically tearing pieces down, checking them over, and tossing them aside. He had initially intended to put together an outfit for a performance later that evening, but he’d quickly realized that something was wrong. 

Vince’s clothing was normally in immaculate condition, but for some reason, every single item had been viciously torn or ripped apart. 

“This can’t be happening! It’s all gone wrong!” he exclaimed after coming across yet another ruined jumpsuit, casting it to the ground.

The door to his room slammed open, and Vince spun around to see Howard standing in the doorway. 

“Vince, we need to talk,” Howard stated firmly, crossing his arms. “I know you have taken my things, and this cannot stand.”

“What do you mean?” Vince asked incredulously. “ _I_ took _your_ things? How about what you’ve done to mine?”

Howard shook a finger. “Distractions won’t be enough this time, little man.” He strode forward, and Vince could see that his face was clear of any sort of mirth. “You’ve stolen my favorite jazz record, and I’d like it back now. This isn’t a game.”

Vince scoffed and extracted himself from his closet. “Bold words coming from the man who destroyed all of my clothing!” he cried. “I’ve got a gig tonight; what do you expect me to wear?”

“Destroyed all your clothing? Don’t be ridiculous.” Howard drew himself to his full height. “Why would I even want to do that?”

Vince swiped up a lime green shirt from the floor and peered at Howard through the hole in its midsection. “I think you’re angry with my style,” he exclaimed. “Or maybe it’s a cruel prank to get back at me for taking whatever you’ve lost.” He let the shirt slide from his fingers.

The answer seemed to only make Howard more mad. “So you admit you stole it!” he ran his fingers through his hair wildly, beginning to pace. “Oh, this is just wonderful. I knew it was a bad idea trusting you with the key to my jazz cabinet.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have trusted you with the key to my closet!” Vince spat back, looking at the remains of his gorgeous clothes. “Don’t even think of coming near anything else of mine!”

“Taking the martyr route, I see,” Howard spat. “As if I’d even touch your clothes. They’re ugly enough without any help.”

That was a low blow. Vince cast around wildly for something to say, something to relieve the pain that had sprouted in his heart. “You said you liked my style!”

Howard clucked his tongue. “Maybe if you respected my personal belongings more, I would respect your fashion more. I thought I could trust you, Vince. Guess I was wrong.”

“You can’t be serious,” Vince couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Howard had destroyed his most prized possessions, accused him of being a thief, and now was insulting him? “I don’t think I trust you, either, then. I think you should...leave!” 

The word was unexpected, falling from his lips, and for a split second, Vince imagined that Howard would be shocked but then laugh, and everything would be right again. Howard would know he didn’t really mean it.

“Leave?” Howard blanched, but his anger took over and his face reddened. “Maybe I will! I suppose it would be best if I live with someone who will respect me and my possessions!” He turned and stormed from the room.

“Howard! Wait!” Vince called after him, casting an anguished look at his closet before hurrying to follow. “What are you doing?”

“It’s time I left!” Howard shouted, storming down the stairs. “It’s clear I’m not wanted around here anymore! And there’s no reason to stay!”

Vince felt fat tears well up in his eyes at the admission, and he stumbled down the stairs, clinging onto the bannister with a tight grip. “Fine, then. If you want to go anyway, don’t let me keep you!” The world was spinning around him, and he felt sick to his stomach.

Reaching the door of the Nabootique, Howard paused to turn back and look to where Vince was shaking at the base of the stairs. A pained expression flitted across his face, before his resolve hardened and his eyes turned stony. “Goodbye, Vince,” he croaked.

Vince couldn’t get out any words in return.

Howard nodded once, sharply, and swung the door open. 

As he stepped forward, however, a figure materialized just in front of him, and Howard reeled back in shock, sputtering. 

It seemed Howard might stay a little longer, at least until the situation was sorted out.

Vince hastily wiped his eyes as the imposing figure swept past Howard and strode into the shop. He was clearly magical in some way, dressed head to toe in black and radiating power.  
The impressive image was ruined only by the papoose strapped to his chest, which held some sort of pink creature that Vince vaguely recognized.

“Excuse me, but the shop is closed, sir,” Howard stuttered hastily, clearing his throat and casting a nervous glance at Vince.

The man shot him a glare. “How dare you speak to me in such an insolent tone? I’m not a customer! I am Saboo, esteemed member of the Board of Shaman, and I am here on official shaman business.”

“Oh, uh—” Howard started, but was cut off.

“And I’m Tony Harrison,” the creature in the papoose called out in a nasally tone. “I’m Saboo’s partner.”

“Get stuffed,” Saboo snapped. “We are definitely not equals.”

Tony Harrison squirmed his tentacles. “That’s no way to speak to your partner! Let me out of this papoose, and I’ll come at ya like a train!”

“As if a little pink ball sack like you could do any damage.” Saboo replied, attention completely diverted from Howard and Vince. “You couldn’t even reach higher than my ankles.”

“Now that’s just offensive!” Tony Harrison replied.

“Can we help you with something?” Vince butted in cautiously, noticing that Saboo looked ready to murder his partner. “It’s just, we were kind of in the middle of something.”

Howard winced at the reminder.

“You both are in serious trouble,” Saboo said quickly, eyes blazing. 

“What? Why? Is someone after us?” Howard asked in a nervous tone, instinctually striding across the room to step in front of Vince and glancing around for any perceived danger.

Tony laughed. “He doesn’t mean it like that! He means you’ve done a bad, bad thing!”

“I see,” Howard said, blushing and moving away from Vince, avoiding eye contact. “Of course.”

“What exactly do you think we’ve done?” Vince challenged, putting a hand on his hip. “We haven’t broken any rules!”

“Nice try,” was all Saboo said in response. He snapped his fingers, and a plush sofa appeared in the center of the shop. “Sit down.”

Vince let Howard take a seat first, and then he perched himself at the opposite end, as far from the other man as possible. Adjusting his shirt, Vince suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about his outfit. 

Did Howard really hate his clothes? If he’d gone so far as to rip the rest up, Howard must be embarrassed to be seen with him, especially with magical company. At the thought, Vince pursed his lips and tried to bring his brain back to the matter at hand.

“You’ve created this mess for yourselves, and you’re going to clean it up,” Saboo stated firmly, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable tension between the two men. “I understand that Naboo and his familiar have been away on other business, which is why I’m the one speaking to you now.”

“And me!” Tony Harrison called, and was promptly ignored.

“We have been getting reports that dark magic has been used at this residence.” Saboo tapped his foot, staring at Howard with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

“Hold on, don’t look at me!” Howard protested. “I haven’t been up to anything.”

Vince shrunk back as Saboo’s gaze was turned on him. “It’s not me, either. I haven’t done any magic since that whole mess with Nanatoo.”

“It was the two of them working together—I just know it!” Tony Harrison unhelpfully called.

“Unfortunately for you both, I know you’re lying,” Saboo stated firmly. “And I’ll have you sorry fools know that the punishment for such a crime is death!”

“Death? That’s a bit overkill, don’tcha think?” Vince quickly asked, face pale.

“Don’t kill me, I’ve got so much to give!” Howard added, subconsciously scooting closer to Vince.

“However,” Saboo cut in, “though you have significantly damaged the magical presence of this store, you have somehow avoided injuring anyone in the process, so you will be getting a second chance.”

Howard let out a shaky breath.

Saboo raised his hand with a flourish, and a sparkling silver broach appeared. Vince immediately thought that it would be an absolutely genius accessory.

“This is for the two of you,” Saboo said. “It is a powerful magical device. If it were up to me, I would not trust two imbeciles with access to more magic, but I happened to be outvoted.”

Tony Harrison waved a tentacle.

Saboo begrudgingly handed the broach to Vince, who immediately pinned it to his shirt. The broach briefly pulsed with light, and a feeling of warmth spread through Vince’s chest, making him feel light and floaty. “Howard, look,” he murmured, despite himself.

Saboo cleared his throat, and the moment was broken. “You must be very careful operating this,” he warned. “In order to get rid of the traces of black magic, you two will hold it aloft together, chant a magic chant, and clearly picture your goal. I have written the chant on this paper.” He passed over a folded slip.

“If it’s that easy, why don’t we just do it now?” Vince asked eagerly, reaching out for the paper and lightly touching the broach with his other hand.

“It can only be operated under the full moon, of course!” Tony Harrison piped up.

“That’s tonight,” Howard realized, shooting a glance at Vince as he pocketed the magic chant.

“Exactly.” Saboo glared at the two of them once more. “And this will be your only chance. If, for any reason, you fail to activate the broach by midnight tonight and don’t get rid of the black magic here, I will be back to personally escort the two of you to the shaman gallows.”

Vince shivered, and Howard scooted even closer to him until their shoulders briefly touched.

“Good luck,” Saboo said mockingly. He clapped his hands, and he and Tony Harrison disappeared.

For a moment, Howard and Vince sat motionless together on the couch. Suddenly, the couch vanished into thin air beneath them, and they tumbled to the floor. 

Vince sat up achily, patting down his hair. “Tonight, then,” he said, peeking over at Howard.

Howard coughed and averted his eyes. “Tonight.”

“Got any plans in the meantime?” Vince forced himself to ask, hoping the words came out casual.

“Figured I’d pack,” Howard said, standing and still refusing to look at Vince. “Think I’ll be off tonight after the ceremony.” He paused in the doorway.

A wave of sadness crashed over Vince, tinged with a mixture of guilt and anger. He’d been hoping that they could make things right since their argument had been interrupted, but it was starting to sound like Howard really didn’t want to live with him anymore. 

“Alright, great,” Vince spat, keeping his eyes to the floor so that Howard wouldn’t see his tears. “See you at the ceremony, then.”

Howard looked as though he was waiting for Vince to say something else, but then a shadow passed over his face and he started up the stairs. “Sure. See you, Vince.”

...

An hour later, Vince found himself lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Howard. He was failing miserably.

With his clothes ruined and now the whole ceremony to worry about, Vince had cancelled his gig, but he was starting to really regret it. His heart felt as though it had been torn in two, and with no distractions, he couldn’t keep his mind from replaying the awful fight. 

Eyes running over the blank whiteness of the ceiling, Vince wondered if he should have done things differently.

It was too late to keep Howard from leaving, or was it? Vince desperately wanted to beg Howard to change his mind, but if the other man really didn’t want to live with him anymore, what would be the point?

“Please stay, Howard,” Vince whispered to himself. “We can work this out, right? We’ve had fights before.”

A brief knock came at Vince’s door, and he sprung up out of bed, surprised and excited. 

“Howard!” Vince exclaimed, moving to open the door. “Have you decided to stay—” the words trailed off as he realized the person standing on the other side of the door was not Howard.

It was the Hitcher.

Vince quickly scrambled backwards, looking around for something to defend himself with. Two imposing, magical figures appearing at the Nabootique in one day? What were the odds? “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I was someone else, didn’t ya?” the Hitcher laughed. “What a pity.” His voice was deep and mocking.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Vince pointed out, voice wavering. 

“Well…” The Hitcher paused, as though preparing a long speech, and Vince had a moment to analyze the situation. 

He realized that even though the man looked exactly like the Hitcher—with the same black coat, same long, wispy hair, and same fashionable boots—there were some slight differences. The man’s skin was as pale as Vince’s, rather than the deep green, and neither of his thumbs were enlarged.

“Wait, what happened to your appearance? Are you trying out a different style?” Vince couldn’t help but ask. He started to make a plan to distract the man and call Howard for help, but then he remembered that Howard was angry with him, and a rush of hurt overwhelmed him. 

“Like my new look, boy?” the Hitcher crowed. He brandished a cane, and Vince flinched back. “Don’t you worry about it! You should be worrying about what I’m about to do with you.”

“What do you want from me?” Vince asked, deciding to ignore the discrepancies for the moment.

“What a question, what a question!” the Hitcher exclaimed, beginning to pace in the small bedroom. “See, I’m a simple man, with simple needs, and I’m heading home. I want nothing to do with this place!”

Vince bit his lip, thinking. Dealing with the Hitcher was like dealing with a wild animal, where you could never predict what would set him off. Vince didn’t want to anger the man, but it seemed as though the Hitcher was in a pretty good mood at the moment. 

“Alright, then,” Vince said, clapping his hands together and trying to give a winning smile. “I’ve got to prepare for a ceremony tonight, so you can go on your way.”

Unfortunately, at the mention of the ceremony, the Hitcher’s face contorted in fury. “I knew I’d extract the truth from ya! You’re trying to block my magic, and I won’t stand for it.”

Vince’s fear spiked and he took a few more steps back, hoping the man wouldn’t notice the broach on his chest. “Sorry?”

“How do you think I’m getting home, you slag?” the Hitcher growled. “Your little ceremony is going to get rid of my black magic transportation spell, but I’m not going to let that happen!”

Vince couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection, and a dawning horror swept over his mind. “You’re the reason there’s been black magic in the Nabootique? Let me guess, you were the one who destroyed my clothing, too?” he exclaimed, hoping it wasn’t true. 

If Howard had really been innocent the whole time, then the argument had been completely unnecessary…

“’Course it was me!” the Hitcher laughed. “Had to stir up some resentment for the magic to work. And now, thanks to you, I have enough negativity and two guinea pigs to test it out on!” 

He waved his cane in a complicated pattern, and through the bedroom window, Vince noticed clouds were gathering.

“Wait, do you really have to do this?” Vince called out, panicked, despite not knowing what was going to happen.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to get hurt; probably, that is,” the Hitcher laughed, still moving the cane around in the air. “But you both will be going to some interesting places, that’s for sure! And you won’t get the chance to even think about the ceremony...until it’s too late!”

Wind started rushing through the room, and Vince brought up his arms to shield his face, hoping Howard would have time to escape before the Hitcher came for him, too. 

Thrusting the cane down onto the floor, the Hitcher spit out a Latin chant, and the room began to distort around Vince as the wind grew louder and louder.

Vince squeezed his eyes tightly shut, cupping the broach to keep it shielded from the magic as the unknown spell took effect.

There was a harsh rumbling sound, as though there was thunder, and with that, everything went silent.

Vince waited for a moment, eyes still shut, before deciding it was safe to take a peek at what the spell had done.

When he opened his eyes and looked around, he realized that he was standing alone in the middle of a field, the Hitcher having disappeared.

“No way,” Vince said, spinning in a slow circle, his boots crushing the fragile stems of grass beneath his feet. 

A light breeze picked up, and the soft coolness on his skin encouraged the idea that this was a real place he’d been thrust into, rather than a hallucination. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

Besides open fields and patches of trees, the only thing that Vince could make out was a single house in the distance. 

“I’m in the middle of nowhere!” he exclaimed incredulously to himself. “Howard!” Vince added in a shout, glancing around hopefully. 

The Hitcher had mentioned that Howard was also going to be put under the spell, so there was a chance he was here. Fight or no fight, Vince had to admit, he needed the strength and protection that his friend offered. Already, this had been one of the longest days of his life.

“Howard must be around here somewhere, wherever this is,” Vince murmured to himself when there was no response. 

After all, the Hitcher had definitely been planning to also target Howard, so the spell must have been cast on him, too. It was too painful to consider that the Hitcher might have done something worse to Howard. 

As long as Vince could make his way out of this place, find Howard, and complete the ceremony, everything would be alright.

Pausing for a moment to make sure that Howard wasn’t going to pop out from behind any of the trees, Vince began making his way over to the solitary house. If it weren’t for his utter disorientation and pressing fear, he would have rather enjoyed the brief nature walk.

As he approached, Vince realized that it wasn’t just a house; there was also a trailer and some sort of shed clumped nearby in a huddle. The place looked dilapidated, like whoever lived there wasn’t interested in keeping things nice. 

Vince stepped from the field onto the driveway and paused to assess his options. Heading straight to the house seemed like a bad choice; it felt like the kind of place where he’d end up brutally murdered. Besides, while the house was dark and silent, a light was on in the shed and he could faintly hear voices coming from within.

Hoping that Howard might be one of the people inside, Vince climbed the few steps and knocked lightly on the door of the shed. “Hello?” he called.

The voices paused, and there was a moment where Vince debated turning around and trying his luck somewhere else, but then the door opened. 

In the low doorway stood a young man, grinning brightly. “Hello!” he said, bowing. “What is your purpose coming here?” He spoke in a thick Japanese accent, and he sounded genuinely excited to see Vince.

“I’m looking for my friend,” Vince said. “Tall, curly hair, scruffy mustache?”

The man’s smile grew. “Ah, you must mean Mr. Flowers! Come in, come in, he is just inside.” He waved Vince to enter the shed.

Peeking over the man’s shoulder, Vince noticed that there was indeed someone else there, slumped in a desk chair and facing away from the door, surrounded by clutter.

“I don’t think—” Vince started, not wanting to talk to some random guy, but the excited man spoke over him.

“In fact, I will give you two privacy,” he said, hurrying outside. The man tugged on Vince’s arm and all but pushed him into the shed before stepping back out and shutting the door. Vince could hear his footsteps retreating. 

He grimaced and took a breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Vince said, his voice loud in the silence. “I’ve just lost my friend Howard.”

Mr. Flowers, as he was supposedly called, slowly swiveled his chair around, and Vince’s mouth dropped open in shock as he got a good look at him. 

“Are you Howard’s long-lost twin or something?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Mr. Flowers blinked at Vince with tired eyes. He was older than Howard, and his hair was longer and greasier, with the addition of a beard, but his face and posture were so similar to Howard’s that Vince was unnerved. Was this some sort of trick?

“I’m an only child,” Mr. Flowers said in a rough but recognizable voice. “But, uh, go ahead and have a seat.”

Vince lowered himself into the armchair that was beside him, unable to stop staring. The man was similar enough to Howard that it was eerie, and Vince was starting to wonder where exactly he’d been transported to.

“So,” Mr. Flowers started, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes darted to Vince and then back down to his lap. “You’ve lost your friend.”

Vince nodded, wondering what the man was thinking. He was used to being able to easily decipher Howard’s emotions, but Mr. Flowers’ face was blank. “We’d just had a big fight and everything, and now he’s gone,” Vince explained. “And you look just like him, Mr. Flowers!”

The man stretched his mouth wide in an imitation of a smile, but there was no joy in his expression. “Call me Maurice,” he said. “And I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Vince said, slightly worried by how dismal Maurice’s tone was. “Oh, and I’m Vince, by the way,” he hastily added, one leg bouncing up and down. 

Maurice glanced up again at Vince. “It’s nice to meet you, Vince. Is there anything you need from me?” he asked flatly.

It was beginning to get unnerving, looking at such an unkempt Howard and hearing Howard’s voice speaking with such a desolate timbre. Maurice sounded lost and unhappy, completely contrasting from Howard’s usual confident, self-assured tone.

“Maybe some advice?” Vince asked, perking up. Maurice must know something about the situation he’d just been thrust into, or at least something about magic in general. Maybe there was a reason Vince had been taken here!

Maurice sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not, I’m not really the, uh, best person, to be coming to for...uh, advice,” he stuttered. He paused to laugh, a stilted, uncomfortable attempt at levity. “You see, well, I’m not sure about what, uh, ended your friend’s life, but...let’s just say, well, I’m not in the best...place...at the moment, either.”

Vince frowned and hesitated, realizing that Maurice was hinting at something important but not quite understanding. 

For the moment, he decided not to clear up the misconception that Howard was dead. As important as that was, Vince could feel that there was more to what Maurice wanted to share, and he didn’t want to disrupt the conversation. 

“Not in the best place?” Vince asked finally. “What do you mean?”

Maurice hastily picked up a package of cigarettes and lit one with a trembling grip. The smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling. “Well, yes, you see, I,” Maurice said, not making any sense. He shut his mouth with an audible click.

“It’s alright, I won’t judge you,” Vince earnestly said after a moment, yearning to go hug the man who looked so much like Howard and who was clearly hurting. “Take your time.”

Maurice blinked, surprised, and looked up at Vince as though truly seeing him for the first time. He took a shaky drag of the cigarette. “I quite appreciate that, Vince,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but it feels as though I already know you; like I can trust you.”

Vince grinned even as his heart ached. It felt wonderful to hear Maurice say such kind things, but the words had made him realize that one of the last things he and Howard had shouted was that they couldn’t trust each other. 

Now, sitting here in this unknown place and separated from his friend, Vince found himself wishing that he could undo the past and make things right with him. He’d jumped to conclusions about his ruined clothing, and in hindsight, even a destroyed wardrobe seemed less important than his relationship with Howard.

It hadn’t been that long, but still, Vince already missed Howard greatly, and he wondered if he could try harder to convince his friend to stay at the Nabootique once they’d finished the ritual. 

“I feel like I know you, too,” Vince said softly. “You can tell me anything.”

“I tried to take my own life,” Maurice suddenly blurted. The words hung heavily in the air. “Several days ago. Foolish, I know. I failed...obviously.” He barked out another painfully fake laugh.

Vince’s heart sped up and a tear slipped down his cheek. “Maurice, I’m so sorry.” It didn’t feel like enough. 

Everything was starting to make sense: the messy room, the smoking, the haunted eyes and unwashed hair, and it was too much to consider, too painful to realize. “Does your family know?” he added, hoping that the answer was yes. If Howard was going through something like that, he’d confide in Vince, right?

“Not yet,” Maurice said. His cigarette hung forlornly between his fingers. “I’ve only told Shun.”

“Shun? Was that the man I met earlier?” Vince asked, and Maurice nodded. “Well, that’s a start.”

“I don’t even know how I managed to do that,” Maurice muttered. “And I’ve tried to tell my wife, but it’s just...never the right time.”

Vince was reminded of a conversation he’d recently had with Howard. Howard had been more nervous and awkward than usual, stuttering through his speech like Maurice had now, and the seriousness had scared Vince.

Worried that Howard was going to say something he wouldn’t want to hear, Vince hadn’t been able to listen. Instead, he’d just laughed and started in with his own story, lightening the mood and grinning when Howard lost his seriousness and played along. 

He’d never thought to ask Howard what he’d originally been trying to say, hoping that it just hadn’t been that important, after all. But now, seeing things from Howard’s perspective, Vince could imagine that he might have been hurt by that. 

Howard probably didn’t trust him enough to confide in him about anything, and that was a painful thought. 

“It’s a terrible thing when someone you care about doesn’t want to hear what you have to say,” Vince murmured.

Maurice carefully extinguished his cigarette and when he looked up at Vince once again, his gaze stayed steady. “That’s a very wise sentiment.” Maurice smiled, and this time, the expression conveyed genuine happiness, though it was tinged with a bittersweet wistfulness. “Howard was lucky to have you.”

Vince gasped, a small choked sound. He clutched at the broach and couldn’t help the tears that began to fall from his eyes. Howard was alive, but suddenly he didn’t feel quite so sure about that. 

What if Howard had died facing the Hitcher, and the last words they’d ever shared had been accusatory and biting? What if Vince would always have to live with the guilt of knowing he’d never properly been there for his friend?

Realizing he was spiraling and trying to center himself, Vince noticed that Maurice was looking out of the window with an understanding look on his face, providing him with a moment of privacy. Cheeks slightly coloring, Vince opened his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door beat him to it.

It was Shun, and he poked his head inside the shed. “Mr. Flowers? It’s nothing urgent, but I was wondering if—” he immediately broke off as he noticed the tears sliding down Vince’s cheeks. “Oh, I am so sorry! I’ll come back at a different time!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Vince said, carefully wiping his tears so as not to smear his makeup. Taking a deep breath, Vince decided that if he was going to make things right with his own Howard, he unfortunately couldn’t stay talking to Maurice. “I should be off now, anyway, but this was well helpful. Thanks for talking with me.” 

He stood, momentarily making sure that the broach was still securely pinned to his shirt before making his way to the door, the recent conversation running through his mind.

“Vince,” Maurice said as he was about to step outside, and Vince briefly turned back. “Thank you, really.” His voice was thick with emotion.

Vince took one last look at him, sitting forlornly in the messy shed, and nodded. “Hope things work out for you, Maurice.” 

The two men smiled at each other, both conveying meaning that went beyond words.

“Thank you for visiting!” Shun suddenly exclaimed, breaking the moment. “Please come back soon!” He bowed and passed by Vince to enter the shed.

Vince nodded at him and started slowly down the steps, unsure which direction to go. The shed door closed as he left, and the low hum of voices started up once more.

It was only once he was a fair distance from the house that the oddity of the situation hit Vince, and he allowed himself to panic. 

“That was Howard! Was that Howard? How do I find Howard?” He paced in the grass, carefully stepping to avoid the few flowers that dotted the meadow. 

It didn’t seem like Howard was here, and to make things worse, Vince had a sinking feeling that ‘here’ didn’t simply apply to the residence. The idea crept up in his mind that if he tried to get a ride to Dalston, the Nabootique would not be there.

“I need to talk to Howard!” Vince called frantically, looking around as though a magical door might appear. He took a step and stumbled over his own boots. “Howard, I promise I’ll listen to anything you have to say!”

And just like that, the air around him let out the audible rumbling of thunder, and the peaceful but melancholy meadow scene started to blur. 

Vince shut his eyes tightly to avoid getting a headache, and his last thought before the world reformed was, _I hope Howard’s okay, wherever he is._


	2. Chapter 2

Howard was horrified.

He stood in his room, looking down at the button-up shirts strewn messily in his suitcase. To be honest, Howard couldn’t clearly remember how he’d gotten to this point. 

The realization that Vince had finally tired of him had been too much; and the whole Saboo visit hadn’t exactly made things better. 

Howard definitely didn’t want to stay if he wasn’t wanted, but he had no idea where he was going to go, and he had no idea what he was going to do without his best friend.

“Maybe I’ve been a little hasty,” Howard mused, sitting on his bed and staring at his shaking hands. 

Howard just couldn’t understand what was going on with Vince. He had stolen Howard’s best jazz album, accused him of some random thing, and yelled at him to leave. But that wasn’t like Vince at all. 

Vince usually respected Howard’s interests (to an extent, of course; Howard couldn’t help but remember the jazz record Vince had eaten), and Vince would never lie that Howard would do something as awful as trash all of his clothing, his most prized possessions. 

There had to be something else going on, something they were missing.

Looking back at his messy suitcase, Howard knew that if he really left for good without at least trying to talk things over, he’d regret it forever. Maybe if Howard explained that he hadn’t touched Vince’s clothes, Vince might return his record.

Forget the record. It didn’t matter. At the very least, Howard needed to know if Vince still cared about him, or if he’d been serious about Howard leaving.

Taking a deep breath, Howard prepared himself to forget his pride and beg Vince, if it came to that. 

“Little man?” Howard called, but there was no answer. Assuming that Vince either hadn’t heard him or was sulking, Howard strode into the hallway and knocked on Vince’s door. “Open up, little man, I have something I need to speak to you about.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Come in,” Vince said, in an oddly evil voice.

Immediately on alert, Howard nervously entered the room, letting out an undignified shriek at the sight of the Hitcher standing alone in the middle of the room. The man looked slightly different, like he’d changed his appearance, but Howard would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Took your time getting over here, huh, boy?” the Hitcher laughed. “I’ve been waiting for ages for you to come and find your friend.”

“What have you done with Vince?” Howard demanded. “Where is he?”

“An alternate dimension that you’ll never find!” the Hitcher responded, twirling his cane. “But don’t worry—you’ll be somewhere new soon enough, too!”

Howard took up a boxing stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Whatever you’ve done to him, I’ll stop you, sir!” Howard exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah?” the Hitcher asked, amused. Somewhat obscured by his white, dangling polo, his eyes twinkled. “Now, what do you think you can do about it?”

Howard stopped bouncing around, panting heavily. “I can tell you to get out!” he exclaimed, pausing for effect. “Now, leave!”

The Hitcher laughed. “Leave? Imagine how awful this story would be if I left!” He pointed his cane at Howard. “Imagine what an improvement it would be if you did.”

Shocked, Howard sputtered as the Hitcher began to chant, moving his cane to the rhythm. Howard tried to rush forward, but he found his body immobilized.

“Remember, alternate world, alternate rules,” the Hitcher taunted. “Doubt either of you will figure out what you have to say to avoid being trapped there forever! You’ll never get the ceremony done in time! Ohoho!”

With that, thunder rumbled through the room, and the spell took effect.

Before Howard’s eyes, the Hitcher and the Nabootique began to fade, the room blurring and reforming around him. Too shocked to make a sound, Howard blinked around at his new surroundings.

He was alone in some sort of dark alleyway, dimly lit with yellow streetlights and completely deserted. Rain was pattering down from above and the floor was covered in a film of grimy water. 

Matching the dismal weather, the air was much colder, and Howard held his coat tightly around himself.

“Hello?” Howard asked, and his voice echoed mournfully back at him. “Vince?”

There was no response. Howard shivered and shook water from the brim of his fedora, glad that at least he’d worn an outfit that shielded him somewhat from the unexpected elements.

He assumed he was still in London somewhere, but this was the most desolate, abandoned, and wet the city had ever been.

Howard spotted a doorway and he ducked into it, feeling better at being protected from the awful weather. The dripping of the rain seemed to grow in intensity as he stood. Howard considered his options. 

Finding Vince was probably the best course of action. Even though Vince wouldn’t want to see him, it would be best to stick together for safety until they got back to the Nabootique and completed the ritual. 

Howard shivered again as he wondered if Vince had also been transported somewhere. Hopefully he was safe.

Making up his mind to wander the streets and find Vince, Howard steeled himself to step back out into the rain and fog, but a shout from inside the building caught his attention.

“Hello-o?” a familiar voice called, sounding irritated. “Where have my little boys gone to?”

Howard gulped and froze.

The door slammed open, and Howard gasped despite himself. “Vince!”

“Excuse me?” the person asked, and Howard immediately realized he was mistaken. The person looked almost exactly like Vince, but something was clearly off. Vince had never willingly worn his hair in bunches like that, and not only was the man’s makeup much too creepy and doll-like for Vince’s taste, but the dark eyeliner framed wild, unstable eyes. “Oh, are you next in line?” the man abruptly asked, smiling too widely.

“Um...who are you?” Howard managed to get out.

“Call me Dickie,” the man replied lightly, holding up a children’s camera. “Now give me a nice pout.”

Howard considered excusing himself, but despite all of his differences, Dickie still uncannily resembled Vince. The Hitcher had mentioned that the magic was going to throw him into an alternate universe, Howard realized, so in a way, this was indeed Vince. He decided to play along, throwing a pout onto his face.

“Smile, cheese!” the camera squeaked, and Dickie grinned as he snapped the photo.

He then dropped the camera, leaving it dangling from its strap around his neck, and motioned inside. “Come on, we’ve not got all day,” Dickie said, suddenly impatient.

Howard followed Dickie into the interior of the building and was immediately struck by the decorations. The place was eerily childlike, with garish lighting and rainbow wall art, but was also filled with piles of pills and heaps of cocaine.

“So, Dickie,” Howard said, trying to sound happy. “I’m actually trying to find my friend…” He trailed off as he noticed the hungry look in Dickie’s eyes.

“Let’s take things slow this time,” Dickie panted, stepping forward and pressing his lips to Howard’s. 

Despite himself, Howard found his lips responding to the electric kiss. Dickie’s tongue explored his mouth and he went slack, closing his eyes and breathing in the cheap perfume of the other man.

Dickie was the one to break the kiss, and Howard stepped back, heart beating too fast. For some reason, Vince was on his mind; Vince’s lips parting for him, Vince’s soft tongue—

“You taste better than I would have imagined,” Dickie said delightedly, but still Howard could only think of Vince. If it wasn’t confirmed before, now he was sure. The shape of the lips, the soft exhale of breath...This was definitely some alternate version of Vince, and from some universe where the two of them had never met. 

But if this was a version of Vince, why had he wanted to kiss Howard?

“You’re gay?” was all Howard could squeak out.

Dickie laughed. “You think that rainbow is on my wall just for show? ’Course I’m gay.”

If a version of Vince was gay, did that mean that...Vince was, too? Howard was overthinking it, of course. Dickie and Vince didn’t necessarily share all of their traits. Vince was definitely not this insane, that was for sure.

And none of that mattered, anyway. Vince’s love life was none of Howard’s business. It wasn’t like Howard was interested in his best friend, right?

Dickie took a step closer to Howard, close enough that his breath caressed Howard’s cheek. Embarrassingly, Howard found that he had gone hard at the intimacy.

“Now you’re going to take control,” Dickie whispered, “And bum me silly.”

“Me?” Howard stuttered, trying not to imagine bumming Vince. “I don’t do that kind of thing, no sir, not Howard Moon. I’m a ladies’ man.”

“Sure,” Dickie laughed, pressing a sultry kiss to Howard’s cheek.

Howard’s skin tingled even after the contact was broken.

“That’s what they all say,” Dickie continued. “But they’ve never been with someone like me.” Abruptly, Dickie lunged forward, taking hold of Howard’s collar and pulling it, so that Howard pressed into Dickie’s body and unwittingly pushed him to the wall.

Howard stared as Dickie reached out and slid Howard’s hands into his, gazing into his eyes. An instinctive urge took hold of Howard, and he used his strength to stretch Dickie’s arms outwards, pinning the man’s body against the pink wall. 

“And you’ve never been with someone like me,” Howard said in an uncharacteristically sultry tone, staring into the blue, blue eyes of a twisted Vince. This time, he was the one to initiate the kiss, pressing his lips hungrily against Dickie’s.

Dickie moaned, and the sound was so familiar and yet so alien that it shook Howard, and he pulled away, releasing Dickie’s arms and stepping backwards.

“I’m sorry,” Howard said, casting his eyes to the floor. “I can’t do it.”

“What are you talking about?” Dickie asked incredulously, putting a hand on his hip. His lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, and Howard realized that his own lips must be bright red.

“It’s not right.” Howard swallowed. “I’m in love with someone else.” As he spoke the words, he realized with a jolt how true they were.

Vince would probably be disgusted with him if he ever said anything, but Howard couldn’t help but acknowledge that he had completely fallen for his best friend.

He couldn’t picture Vince ever feeling the same way about him.

“But I want you,” Dickie said, and Howard refocused his eyes on the man in front of him.

How much of Dickie was like his own Vince? “What do you like about me?” Howard asked, expecting to be told off but extremely curious. Perhaps this would give him some insight into his friend’s mind.

“Everything,” Dickie breathed. He reached a hand out and gripped Howard’s arm. “You’re strong and handsome, like a sexy Northern beast.” He gently tugged Howard until Howard’s arms were encircling his warm, lithe body. The silk of his nightgown was soft under Howard’s fingertips. “I want you to hold me at night, and then to dance with me until the sun comes up.”

Now, that was unexpected. Dance with him? That wasn’t like Vince at all. Vince had just stolen his best jazz record, after all. “I know some wonderful jazz tunes that we could boogie to,” Howard said.

Dickie immediately pulled himself out of Howard’s hold. “Jazz? You’ve got to be joking!” He stomped over to the door. “Feel free to see yourself out.”

Howard gaped. “You’re serious?”

“I’m allergic to jazz, dickhead!” Dickie exclaimed, thrusting the door open. “How can you listen to something so revolting?”

Still in shock, Howard stumbled outside, watching as the door slammed shut behind him. He huddled for a moment in the damp, listening to the rain and wiping some of the smeared lipstick from his lips. 

Dickie was allergic to jazz like Vince, so Dickie and Vince did share at least some of their traits. 

The knowledge was probably worthless, but for Howard it changed everything.

...

Opening his eyes after being transported from the countryside, Vince widened his eyes at the scene around him. He was standing directly in front of an impressively large building with a sign reading, “Isle of Man Police Department.” 

As Vince stood blinking it in, several policemen started up the steps and entered the building, shooting him suspicious glances.

“This can’t be real,” he breathed. “I’m not even in the UK anymore?”

Vince wasn’t sure the new location was even a problem, given that he was in an altogether different universe, but the knowledge only added to his complicated muddle of worries. 

His mind was still whirling from his emotionally intense counter with Maurice and he ached to find Howard and talk to him. He was also starting to get worried that they wouldn’t be able to complete the ceremony in time—assuming that time was still passing in their universe while they weren’t there.

“I know!” Vince exclaimed, pulling out his phone. “I’ll give him a call!” He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of the idea before. It might not work across dimensions, but it was definitely worth a try.

Dialing Howard’s number and hoping he’d pick up, Vince began to pace anxiously, holding the phone to his ear. The phone rang and rang, and Vince was about to give it up when suddenly, the ringing was abruptly cut off.

“Howard?” Vince asked, hardly able to believe it.

“Well, hello, sir,” Howard’s voice responded confidently. 

Vince held his breath, waiting to hear what Howard might say.

“Shall we get on with the photos?” Howard asked.

Vince almost dropped the phone. “Sorry, what was that?” He pressed the phone tightly to the side of his head. Perhaps he hadn’t heard correctly.

“The photos,” Howard repeated, as though it were amusingly obvious. “For the press coverage. You did bring the camera, right?”

Worry and doubt began to thread their way through Vince’s mind and he pulled his phone from his ear to look at the screen, only to find that it had died. His heart sunk.

“Shall we get on with it then?” Howard’s voice asked.

Slowly, Vince turned around, nervously realizing that a man was standing impatiently behind him. 

True to the voice, it was definitely a version of Howard, right down to the mustache and poor sense of style. He was clad in a garish orange leather jacket and matching orange turtleneck, and there was an odd eyepatch covering his right eye that almost reminded Vince of the Hitcher’s polo.

“Sorry, who are you?” Vince asked cautiously.

The man laughed. “Ha! Good joke! Been a while since I was in the big movies, eh?” There was an awkward pause before he laughed again and added, “Richard Thorncroft, yes, the Richard Thorncroft. Mindhorn himself. Suppose you’re starstruck. No worries, all you have to do is snap some photos!”

Vince blinked in awe, taken aback at Richard’s extreme self-assurance. It was a far cry from Maurice’s softened demeanor, and he couldn’t quite quantify the man who stood before him. 

“Sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not here to take photos,” Vince tried to explain.

Richard Thorncroft winked. “Just a fan stopping by to see my work, then?” He spread his arms wide. “Well, don’t worry, I’ll humor you. The rumors are indeed true; I’m working on a very secret case with the police, bringing to life the handsome, truth-seeking man of action and detective, Mindhorn himself!...You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you? It’s alright, no need to be overwhelmed! Come, walk with me.”

Vince followed Richard away from the police station, his boots crunching on the gravel path. “I don’t suppose you know anything about magic rituals?” he asked.

Richard laughed again, gazing out at the skyline. “Knew you’d be asking about my eye. Never gets old, that one! I can read exactly what’s on your mind, sir!”

Unsure whether to believe him, Vince faltered and stopped walking. “Do you want to give it a go with me, then?”

Richard spun around and smiled uncomfortably, his curly hair flapping in the slight breeze. “That’s certainly a forward request, but as you know, I’m single, and it won’t do any harm if it satisfies your interests. I assume you’re interested in reenacting the iconic scene from the show. Is that it?”

Vince realized that his heart was beating frantically in his chest. He licked his dry lips. “I’m not sure.”

Richard’s eyes lit up, as though that was the response he’d been expecting. He drew himself to his full height. “Well, my eye can read the answer that lies in your heart!” With that, Richard started to lean in.

Vince gaped as he realized Richard was planning to kiss him, and he found himself frozen in place.

“Alright, well, you must let me know if this is still okay,” Richard suddenly said, his face pausing inches from Vince’s. “I can’t really read minds, of course.” His breath was hot against Vince’s skin.

Vince imagined Howard saying the same words; Howard’s face leaning towards his; Howard’s eyes gazing that intently into his soul. He took a shallow breath. “It’s alright,” he found himself whispering, lips curving upwards.

Richard blinked for a moment, seemingly shocked at having gotten permission, before easily closing the distance and letting their lips crash together. His mustache was rough against Vince’s skin, but his lips were soft and plump, connecting easily with Vince’s.

Vince couldn’t help but deepen the kiss as a gentle hand came up to cup his face, and he leaned into Richard’s steadiness, relaxing into the moment. 

With his eyes closed, he could believe that this was actually Howard, and the thought sent a rush of excitement through his body.

As Richard’s tongue began to cautiously explore Vince’s mouth, a shrieking cry rang out, and the two sprung apart from each other, panting and flushed.

“That was—wow, that was—” Vince sputtered, wide-eyed, running a hand through his hair.

“Ha, well, definitely not what I expected,” Richard chuckled, looking equally shocked and trying to regain his composure. “Didn’t realize you were that big of a fan, but I’m not complaining!”

“That was wonderful,” Vince was finally able to get out, and he was so flustered that when the terrible scream called out once more, he dove behind Richard as though the man would protect him like Howard did.

To his credit, Richard didn’t seem surprised by the action, and he simply tensed, looking around for the source of the noise.

A man stepped out from behind a bush, grinning at the two of them. “Mindhorn! I thought we agreed to meet now!” he called.

Vince peeked out at the man from behind Richard, and quickly ducked back as the man made eye contact with him.

“That’s right, we did, sir,” Richard sputtered. “Any chance we could reschedule?”

“I need to talk with you!” the man responded, walking closer. He let out another screech. “I need you, Mindhorn! I’m the Kestrel!”

The words didn’t make any sense to Vince, but Richard sighed. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Let me just...finish up here, and I’ll be right with you, bringing the sweet, sweet gaze of justice!” His delivery was confident, but Vince noticed that Richard was trembling.

“Alright, Mindhorn,” the man said. “You get 15 minutes. Otherwise, more people will die!” With that, he sprung back behind the bush.

Richard stared at the bush for a moment before deciding that the man would stick to his word and relaxing. 

Vince stepped out from behind his back. “Seems like you’re a little busy,” he said apologetically, not wanting to get swept up in a new conflict. He bit his lip. “Guess I should be off.”

Richard smiled tiredly. “Yes, I lead a busy, busy life. Full of danger and heroism and rescue, but all in a day’s work!” He paused as the line fell flat. “Will I be seeing you around, then? Maybe looking to reenact the hotel scene from episode 17?”

Vince laughed, the kiss replaying itself through his mind. “Sorry, but I’ve got places to be. And I think I’m actually into someone else.”

Richard quirked an eyebrow. “Do you, now? Well, that makes things interesting. Who is it? Not my nemesis John Nettles, I hope.”

Vince took a breath, realizing what was about to happen. “No, it’s actually my best friend, Howard. I’ve never said it, but I think I’m really in love with him.”

With that, the thunder rumbled, and around Vince, the Isle of Man slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

As Howard stood in the wet alleyway, sheltered from the rain but not from the cold, he couldn’t get Dickie out of his mind. The encounter had been odd and alien, but at the same time, it had unlocked something in Howard; something about it had felt right.

“Oh, dear,” Howard whispered beneath the pattering of the rain. “This can’t be. I’m totally, irrevocably in love with Vince Noir.”

It was just as the words had left his lips that the thunder echoed around him and the scene began to change. The air warmed as the darkness was dispersed, and Howard had just enough time to wish to go back to the Nabootique before his surroundings reformed.

Unfortunately, it was not to be; and unlike the last time, as he looked around, Howard could not even confirm that he was at least still in London. 

There wasn’t much to look at—he was in a brightly lit, slightly cramped elevator, with orange electronic letters above the closed doors informing him that he was on the 34th floor.

With a lurch, the elevator began descending, and Howard looked down the rows of buttons to see that though he was currently at the top of the building, the lowest floor possible had been selected. 

For some reason, Howard was heading toward the basement.

“Is this supposed to be happening?” Howard asked himself nervously, fruitlessly trying to press the other buttons. 

Gulping and accepting his fate, Howard took a moment to straighten his collared shirt and take a deep breath. “Perhaps this is where I will finally confront the Hitcher,” he said in a wavering voice, before deciding to think more positively. “Or Vince might be here, yes indeed.”

And standing there in the elevator, shoes still dripping from the rain of the other world and breathing still elevated from meeting Dickie, Howard found himself acutely aching for Vince. He knew Vince would never return his feelings, especially not after the fight they’d had, but it didn’t matter. Howard had to admit that he needed Vince.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened, and Howard cautiously stepped out into a dimly lit corridor. 

There was no one there, which was a comfort, but the whole place carried an ominous energy. To make things worse, the corridor only led to a single door, and against his best judgement, Howard decided to see what was inside.

He stepped through the door with trepidation and was immediately surprised at the room he found himself in.

The whole place was cluttered with junk and the walls were covered in posters, but the light was bright and the atmosphere was comfortable.

Howard’s eyes were drawn to the two desks in the middle of the room. He stepped over to the one on the right, inspecting the contents as though they would give him a clue as to where he was. 

The computer was unfortunately locked with a passcode, but there was a pamphlet discarded at its side and Howard inspected it. “Reynholm Industries: the future wants it and we want to give it to the future!” it proclaimed. 

Howard snorted at the cheap font and bad graphic design until his eyes fell on the image beneath the text and he let out a slight shriek. It was a picture of Dixon Bainbridge. 

He was clean shaven and wearing a suit, but Howard would recognize the head of the Zooniverse anywhere.

Howard could only assume that this was a different alternate world he found himself in, and he glanced up nervously, wondering if he was in Bainbridge’s office.

The door to the corridor suddenly opened, and Howard assumed a fighting stance, naturally moving to protect Vince before remembering he was alone.

A single man walked in, and thankfully, it was not Bainbridge who entered. Howard was given a moment of relief before he registered the sight before him, and dread pooled in his stomach. 

“What are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be here,” the man said in an unmistakable voice, and Howard froze as he stared into the eyes of Saboo.

 _It’s not him, right? Alternate world, different people,_ Howard told himself in a panic. An image of Saboo trying to seduce him like Dickie just had floated through his mind, and he had to stop himself from bursting out into hysterical laughter.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Not-Saboo asked, adjusting his glasses. He was dressed in a checkered shirt and a tie, his style laughably tame compared to his normal black leather and eyeliner, and the nerdy look was completed by the deep part in his hair.

“H-hello, sir,” Howard said, willing himself to be brave. “My name is Howard Moon. I’m not quite sure why I’m in this office, to be completely honest.”

“Hey, Moss? Do I hear voices? Who’re you talking to?” an amused Irish voice came from the corridor, and a new man stepped in to stare at Howard.

“This is Howard,” Saboo—or actually, Moss—responded, pointing at Howard. “I don’t know why he’s here, Roy. I don’t think he knows why he’s here.”

Roy scoffed. “Well, better be on your way then. Go on and see yourself out,” he snarked to Howard. “Unless you have computer problems; in which case, have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“Computer problems? I’m not sure what you mean,” Howard said, still trying to orient himself.

Moss laughed. “This is the IT Department, after all,” he said, as though it were exceedingly obvious.

Howard couldn’t compute how tame this version of Saboo was. “Well, suppose I should be on my way,” he said briskly. “I’m actually looking for someone, but it doesn’t look like he’s here.”

“Do you think he’s looking for Richmond?” Moss asked, turning to Roy.

“Of course not,” Roy scoffed. “Why would anyone be looking for Richmond?”

“Richmond? Who’s that?” Howard asked, a foreboding feeling coming over him. “He hasn’t got long, dark hair and an interest in being punk, has he?”

“It’s goth, actually,” Moss corrected happily. “He’s behind that door.”

Howard turned to where the man was pointing and was shocked to see a bright red door, which he strangely hadn’t noticed before. He warily wondered if it was a product of magic.

“I might as well talk to him,” Howard reasoned, for his own benefit as much as Moss and Roy’s. 

“Alright then,” Roy responded, laughing as though Howard was making a huge mistake. “Good luck.”

Howard crossed the room and creaked open the red door, revealing a dark, shadowy room almost as cold as the rainy alleyway had been.

“Excuse me? Is Richmond in here?” Howard asked as he closed the door behind him. 

From the darkness, a figure slowly approached. “Hello, Howard,” a deep voice greeted.

Howard gulped. “How do you know my name? Have you been using dark magic? I warn you, I’m a master of hand-to-hand combat!”

The figure walked towards him, and through the gloom, Howard realized that he was staring at the pale face of his best friend. “Heard Moss and Roy say it through the door,” Richmond said. He leaned forward and Howard was about to retreat, but Richmond simply flicked the light on and stepped back.

In the light, it became clear that Richmond was harmless—and more interestingly, that he was essentially a goth version of Vince. Aside from the white face makeup and shadowed eyes, Howard actually found himself appreciating the look. The black coat, skinny jeans, and shiny boots looked like something Vince might wear to impress the goth girls Ebola and Anthrax.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Richmond asked in his unnaturally deep, echoey voice.

“I’m in a bit of a predicament,” Howard admitted, unsure how much to explain and deciding to steer clear of magic and his encounter with Dickie. “My friend Vince and I had a tiny argument, well, quite a large one, actually, and I can’t seem to find him and don’t think he’d be too keen to see me anyway, not that I’m worried about it, no sir. I’m a solitary man, in search of a solitary life, living on the fulfilling emptiness of—”

“It sounds like you need to apologize to Vince,” Richmond interrupted, unfazed by the stranger unloading his problems onto him. “What did you do, anyway?”

Howard thought back to the fight that now seemed like it had been ages ago. “Well, I suppose it was a misunderstanding. Vince stole one of my records, but for some reason, claimed I’d destroyed his clothing. Ridiculous, really. Long story short, we mutually decided I should leave, and that was the end of it.”

“Record? What sort of record?” Richmond asked, missing the entire point.

“Some sweet, sweet jazz, why?” Howard asked, a part of him hoping to find a version of Vince who would appreciate his music.

“Aww, really?” Richmond groaned. “That’s disgusting. I only listen to Cradle of Filth.” He turned to a stack of CDs in the corner of the room with an eerily vampiric expression. Howard found himself noting the similarities between Richmond and what he’d imagine Vlad the Impaler would have looked like.

“Interesting,” Howard said, wondering if Vince would like Cradle of Filth or if that was a strictly goth-only type of music. Although, Vince had briefly gone goth before...“Well, if that’s all, I should be on my way.”

“Nonsense,” Richmond said, guiding him to one of the two chairs in the room.

Howard sat, his eyes flicking to the wall next to him and taking in the random switches and irregularly blinking lights.

“I give great relationship advice,” Richmond offered, taking the other seat and fixing his dark eyes on Howard. “Do you happen to be in love with your friend?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. It’s complicated,” Howard sputtered, staring at a man who looked exactly like said friend.

“That’s what I would have guessed,” Richmond said happily, or at least as happily as a goth could. “But either way, you know what I think?”

“What do you think?” Howard asked, genuinely interested.

Richmond placed a hand on his chest, his black painted nails matching his gloomy outfit. “I know if I was Vince, I’d be feeling awful.”

“Thank you, I’d have liked to tell him the same thing!” Howard exclaimed, feeling surprisingly validated. Who knew that another Vince would agree that Howard had been treated poorly and deserved an apology, if not his jazz record back?

“You don’t understand.” Richmond’s garishly painted face was entirely serious. “It sounds like you’ve hurt him.”

“I’ve hurt him?” Howard asked, taken aback. “He shouted that I leave and seemed even more upset when I was going to!”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Richmond sighed. “If your friend is anything like me, he must be feeling all torn up.”

“Why, where would that sort of discontent be coming from?” Howard gazed shrewdly at Richmond, prepared for terrible advice.

“It sounds like it was a misunderstanding on both sides. You thought he did something, he thought you did something, in the heat of the moment, he shouted something. That’s alright, people have fights.” Richmond stood, dramatically looking off into the distance at nothing. “But if I ever heard someone I care about agree to leave for good, I’d be thinking that he actually hated me.”

Thinking about it that way, Howard could see that it made sense. Howard had been all too happy to storm out; too willing to accept that Vince really wanted him gone. 

But from Vince’s perspective, it must have seemed like Howard was the one who wanted to be gone. Because Howard was the one choosing to let the fight permanently end their friendship.

For someone as gentle as Vince, that must have been heartbreaking.

“Is it possible Vince would miss me if I left for good?” Howard asked, unable to look at Richmond but needing to know the answer.

“I know he would,” Richmond responded in his gloomy tone. “If you were my best friend, I’d never want you to go. And I’d probably be in love with you, too.”

Right. Howard had forgotten that Richmond somehow knew about that, but for some reason, the words were comforting to hear. “I really appreciate that, little man,” he said, the term slipping out naturally before he could catch himself.

Richmond shot him a knowing look.

“Hey, so, uh, what’s the deal with Moss? Couldn’t quite get a read on him.” Howard couldn’t help but ask, flustered.

“I don’t know much about him. He’s always out there and I’m always in here,” Richmond admitted. “But he’s got a good heart.”

Howard couldn’t imagine any version of Saboo being a positive figure, but he filed the information away as potential insight into the shaman. 

“Well, thank you for the help,” Howard said, preparing himself to head back out and face Moss and Roy once again. “I think you’re right—I need to apologize to Vince and tell him how I truly feel.”

With that, Howard placed his hand on the doorknob, but the tingle of magic suddenly washed over him, and the room was swept away in a familiar blur.

...

As this was his third time being transported, Howard didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to lose hope of ever getting back to the Nabootique. 

It seemed as though he was doing a swell job of thwarting the permanence of the spell, but Howard had no idea how he could break the cycle, or what he would need to say for that to happen.

And even if he could save himself, there was still Vince to worry about. He wondered if Vince was caught in some awful universe, waiting for Howard to rescue him. 

Howard shook off his worry and took a glance at his new surroundings. Wherever he was now, it was a place infinitely duller than even the Reynholm Industries building had been.

He was in what appeared to be the living room of a flat, sparsely decorated with a beaten up couch as the only furniture. Besides a front door and an equally empty kitchen, there was nothing else; no decorations or personal embellishments.

A muffled noise came from somewhere behind Howard, and he spun to see that there was a second door, likely leading to the bedroom. 

“I see how it is,” Howard said to himself. “That’s where I’ve got to go this time. Well, let’s get this over with.”

He wondered what version of Vince would be behind the door this time. Maybe a musical getaway driver? An even more musical, awful flatmate? A famous celebrity baker? A cop with yellow skin and a talking bullet wound? 

Howard shuddered and swung the door open, standing as confidently as he could in the doorway.

Sure enough, there the version of Vince stood, looking out of the window almost mournfully. Compared to the other two versions Howard had met, this man was almost scarily identical to Vince.

“Hello, there. Can we have a chat?” Howard asked. “I can’t explain, but you look just like someone I’m close to.”

The man who looked like Vince turned, and his face lit up before he seemed to school his expression. “So do you,” he said halfheartedly. “Been trying to find him all day.”

Howard blinked and removed his fedora with shaking fingers. “You’re not—Vince? It can’t be!”

The man gasped, broke into a grin, and launched himself across the room, throwing his arms around Howard. “Howard! It’s really you!” he cried.

For once, Howard couldn’t be bothered to pull away from the touch, and he hugged Vince back enthusiastically. “Vince, I can’t believe we’ve finally found each other. You’re safe! What a mess this has been, eh?”

Vince laughed and pulled back, before sobering and blinking warily at Howard. “I think we need to talk, Howard.”

Howard gulped, trying not to think about how angry Vince had been over their misunderstanding; how angry both of them had been. He would respect whatever his friend decided, but Howard hoped that he wouldn’t be leaving the Nabootique for good. “Yes, that’s a good idea, a strong idea. Was going to suggest it myself, really.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Howard wondered what the alternate versions of himself had been like for Vince. Dickie floated up in his mind, and he shoved the memory down.

“How about we first figure out how to get back to the Nabootique to enact the ritual?” Howard finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“Let’s do it, then,” Vince said, but the sound of the front door opening sounded through the flat.

Two excited voices could be heard, and Vince and Howard stared at each other.

“If they find us in their flat, we’re done for,” Vince gasped, and Howard had to agree.

“Let’s, uh, let’s hide somewhere!” Howard suggested, frantically looking around for somewhere to go and wishing they weren’t on the second floor.

“Under there!” Vince whispered, and he took Howard by the hand and pulled him beneath the bed.

It was just in time. As Howard slid into the darkness, the bedroom door opened and two sets of feet entered the room.

Howard and Vince stilled, breathing as quietly as possible, laying on their backs with their shoulders pressed together in the small space.

“That was a well fancy date, Stitch,” a voice came from above, sounding exactly like a younger Vince.

Vince gasped softly, and Howard gently took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

“You know it, Pete. Only the best from me,” a deep voice—Stitch’s—joked, and Howard froze at hearing his own voice echoed above him.

Deep in shock, a sudden pressure on his hand caused him to flinch, before he realized that Vince had squeezed his hand back. He turned his head, and in the gloom, the two men smiled at each other.

“Maybe they’ll leave soon,” Vince whispered, and Howard could only hope they would.

Out the window, it had looked like midafternoon, so it certainly wasn’t time for them to go to sleep. And what else would they need the bedroom for?

The bed creaked as one of the two doppelgangers dove onto it. “Come on, Stitch! You know what’s better than a fancy meal?” Pete asked.

“You know I do,” Stitch practically growled.

Howard immediately recognized his sexy voice which he reserved for sexy times, and as such, he wasn’t totally surprised when a pair of pants was suddenly discarded on the floor right next to him. Still, he couldn’t believe that a version of him was about to have sex with a version of Vince. And right above them, too!

Vince seemed to be thinking the same thing, and the hand in Howard’s twitched.

“What do you say, Pete?” Stitch asked in a sultry tone. “Nipple clamps or no nipple clamps?”

The bed creaked as Pete shifted, and Howard stared nervously up at it.

“Let’s go with nipple clamps,” Pete laughed. “But only if I get to tear ‘em off with my teeth! Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”

“Just savoring the moment,” Stitch responded, crawling onto the bed. “This never gets old.”

Howard wondered what the version of Vince was looking like, laying on the bed right above him, and he felt his cheeks heating up.

“Can’t believe I ever thought Poppy gave a good shag,” Pete murmured, and then they were very loudly making out, panting and moaning.

Howard chanced a glance at Vince, whose face was as red as he imagined his own must be.

Above them, the sex was slowly growing louder and more heated. There was even the sound of an elephant trumpeting, which judging by the moaning that resulted, was a big turn on for the two of them.

With the amount of noise that was occurring, Howard realized that if he whispered to Vince, it probably wouldn’t be heard. He shifted even closer to his friend, trying to ignore the way he found himself becoming hard.

“What do you think we should do?” he whispered into Vince’s ear.

Vince stiffened slightly at the intimacy, and Howard noticed that the hand in his was warm and sweaty.

“This is so weird,” Vince finally whispered back, and Howard shivered despite himself. “This is probably a bad time to admit that I’ve got a thing for you.”

Howard froze. Above him, another elephant trill sounded, and he breathed out unsteadily. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered back, trying not to make eye contact with Vince. “Or maybe you do, but I just heard you wrong. That must be it.”

“No, I’m really in love with you, Howard.” Vince’s voice was shaky but resolute. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. You just deserve to know.”

“I’m—I’m in love with you, too, little man,” Howard forced himself to say before he could stop himself. He was suddenly glad for the sex noises above him (which was a line he’d never have imagined thinking), for creating a distraction to ease the tension. Still, nerves were pulsing through his body.

Vince was silent, and lying in the dark behind him, Howard started to worry that he’d said the wrong thing. 

“Was this a joke?” Howard whispered, breathing out a soft laugh. “Ha! What am I thinking, of course it was! Ow, you got me!”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Vince responded, directly into Howard’s ear. “I just never imagined you’d feel the same. Is this for real?”

Howard gripped Vince’s hand even tighter and turned his head so that the two of them were looking at each other, face to face. “It’s real,” he said.

Above them, Pete and Stitch were still going at it, and the bed was shaking harder than before, but neither of them paid it any attention.

Vince smiled, shifting forward until their noses touched. “Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Howard nodded.

Vince placed a gentle hand on Howard’s cheek and leaned in slowly, eyes shut. Howard couldn’t help but smile.

Right as their lips made contact, pressing together in the darkness under the bed, the thunder was back, and the room swirled away.


	4. Chapter 4

Vince’s head was spinning as his surroundings began to float away yet again. He couldn’t believe that Howard felt the same about him, and the kiss had left him giddy and exhilarated. 

Maybe it had been the Hitcher’s plan to hurt Vince and Howard, but this was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

“We’re not back at the Nabootique?” Howard asked, startling Vince.

Vince looked around, realizing that Howard was right. The two of them were standing in a warehouse, in the middle of a large group of people.

Oddly enough, nobody seemed to have noticed their abrupt arrival. The people were all shuffling around aimlessly and robotically talking to each other, and Vince noticed odd flashes of red blinking from their eyes.

“I thought for sure we’d broken the spell,” Vince agreed.

Howard leaned in closer to Vince, causing Vince’s heart rate to skyrocket, but he was just moving to whisper in his ear. “Look, whatever happens, stay behind me, alright?” Howard murmured. “I don’t think I could handle losing you again.”

“Be careful, Howard,” Vince murmured back. “Whatever the Hitcher’s planning, it’s not going to be good. And I have a feeling he might be here this time.”

Howard smiled tightly at Vince and turned back to look at the crowd, who were all turning in unison to face the front, falling eerily silent.

Following their gazes to the front of the warehouse, Vince noticed a stage, lit at the back with neon red lights. As he watched, a man climbed up to speak.

The man was clearly yet another alternate version of Howard, but his energy was powerful and imposing. Vince nudged Howard, who was already staring in shock.

“Welcome, all wanderers of the cosmos,” the man proclaimed, smiling. “As you all know, I am Dr. Peter Toynbee, and you are my chosen ones. My loyal followers. My flock.” He held out his hands, and the crowd copied the motion. “Now, who’s ready to go to Eternis?”

The crowd cheered loudly, and Vince had to wonder what had gone so wrong in this universe that Howard was apparently a cult leader.

“I can’t imagine what we have to say this time to break the spell,” Vince whispered. “So far for me it’s been realizations about our relationship, but we’ve covered them all.”

Howard grimaced. “Maybe this is about my jazz record? I realize that it was a misunderstanding, but I’d really like it back, of course.”

Vince crossed his arms. “Are we still on that? I thought you’d also figured it out. I didn’t take your jazz record—that was the Hitcher, messing with us.”

Howard’s cheeks reddened. “Ah, of course it was. Makes complete sense, really. Should have thought of it before.” He glanced at Vince as though he was contemplating apologizing, but in the end, what came out of his mouth was, “Then perhaps there’s no way out, this time.”

“Shall we begin the ceremony?” Toynbee called from the stage, the red light shining brightly behind him.

“Oi, not so fast,” the unmistakable voice of the Hitcher called from somewhere in the crowd.

Vince reached over and took hold of Howard’s hand, pressing closely to him. The two exchanged a concerned glance.

Toynbee was clearly taken aback, pausing in the ritual to watch as the Hitcher emerged from the group of emotionless people. “You better watch yourself, sir. I won’t tolerate interruptions in this ritual.”

The Hitcher made a show of clumsily climbing up onto the stage, moaning about his old bones, before straightening up and facing Toynbee. “This ain’t your show anymore,” the Hitcher jeered. 

He flicked a hand, and Toynbee flew backwards off the stage, crashing into the wall behind him and falling to the floor.

“He’s never been that powerful, has he?” Vince asked incredulously, watching as the Hitcher turned back to face the crowd and swiped up his cane.

“You haven’t seen what he can do with eels,” Howard responded.

“Now, let me see the jazz freak and his girlfriend!” the Hitcher cried, brandishing his cane.

The crowd mindlessly parted around Howard and Vince, revealing them to the grinning Hitcher.

“I’m not so sure we’re going to ever make it back to the Nabootique,” Vince couldn’t help but whisper, edging behind Howard.

If the Hitcher had heard the comment, he didn’t react. “How was your little trip through the universe?” he jeered. “Seems like I’ve been victorious once again!”

“What was the purpose of sending us to all those places, if this was your plan all along?” Howard called back. “If you really were just trying to stop us from completing the ceremony, there are plenty of other, easier ways to do it.”

The Hitcher laughed. “Except I’ve been lying to ya this entire time! Can’t you tell that something’s a little different?” He motioned up and down his body.

“Wait a minute, when you appeared in my room, I asked why you weren’t green anymore, and you said it didn’t matter,” Vince said, slightly incredulous.

“And I just didn’t see the relevance,” Howard added. “Definitely noticed, obviously. I noticed and decided it wasn’t important.” 

“You two must be the thickest wankers I’ve ever met,” the Hitcher said, shaking his head. “Do I have to spell it out for you boys? I’m not your Hitcher!”

“Sorry, what was that?” Howard asked. “You’ll have to repeat yourself.”

“You heard me loud and clear!” the man crowed. “I’m another Hitcher, from a different universe!”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Vince laughed, moving back to stand at Howard’s side. “What’d you want with us, then?”

“You want a villain monologue, I’ll give you a villain monologue!” The Hitcher jumped off of the stage, weaving his way through the crowd of brainwashed people. “I come from a universe without all your magic. I do shows, see, for crowds just like this one. Night after night, I terrorize my own versions of you two for the amusement of the public.” He shoved a person to the side. “But then, one night, I was transported to your London! What a shock that was!”

“So all you’ve been trying to do is get back to your own universe?” Howard asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Obviously!” the Hitcher directed his path toward Howard and Vince, knocking people out of his way. “Apparently when doing this sort of black magic, you’ve got to stir up some negative feelings for the spell to work. After manipulating you slags, I had just what I needed. Except you lot were about to thwart me, so I decided to let you two test it out first! And now I just need to figure out how to specify my own universe!”

“Oh, that’s what you meant by us being guinea pigs,” Vince said, shaking his head as the Hitcher slowly continued to approach. A thought came to mind, and he glanced down at the magical broach. “Why’d you choose to do things the hard way?”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Howard whispered urgently.

“You better watch your tongue, boy,” the Hitcher growled, reaching the two of them and stopping a few feet from Vince.

“Why didn’t you explain all of this to us first?” Vince asked, almost earnestly, casually putting a hand onto his hip. “We could help you get back home, without all of the complicated steps.”

The Hitcher sputtered, before leaning in and pressing the tip of his cane into Vince’s chest. “I don’t know what mind game you’re trying to play, but it’s not going to work on me.”

Vince shot a glance at Howard, wide blue eyes beseeching him to help. “Right, yeah,” Howard said. “We’re experts at all sorts of magic. You should have seen the terrifying demon we summoned just the other day.”

Vince nodded. It wasn’t technically a lie. Nanatoo _had_ been terrifying, in her own way.

The Hitcher drew back, considering their words. “How do I know you ain’t lying to me?” he finally asked, tapping his cane impatiently.

“I don’t know about Howard, but I think you really helped us out today, even if you were the one to start our fight in the first place,” Vince explained, thinking about how strangely beneficial it had been to talk to the other Howards. “I don’t mind giving you a favor after all of that.”

Howard cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, it was quite, well, enlightening, what I experienced today. And your intentions may have been bad, but Howard Moon isn’t one to hold a grudge, no sir.”

“See?” Vince said. “Take us back to the Nabootique, and we can sort all of this out.”

The Hitcher raised his cane, and for a moment, Vince was worried that he was about to curse the two of them, but then he brought the cane back down with a flourish, and the scene began to change alongside the sound of thunder.

Vince shut his eyes, leaning into Howard’s shoulder and hoping everything would work out. What if they couldn’t figure out how to send the Hitcher back to his own universe? Or what if he had been lying the whole time about what he really wanted from them?

The thunder came to a stop, and Vince cautiously cracked open his eyelids. This time, finally, he was met with the familiar surroundings of the Nabootique.

“Howard, we did it!” Vince cried happily, dashing over to the counter and holding up one of Howard’s elbow patches. “We made it home!”

“We sure did, little man!” Howard smiled, spinning in a slow circle to take in the normalcy and abruptly stopping as he came face to face with the Hitcher.

“You haven’t forgotten your end of the bargain, now, have ya?” the Hitcher warned.

“No, sir, I’m a man of my word, of course,” Howard proclaimed, though Vince noticed a bead of sweat roll down his brow. “Vince, did you have an idea?”

Vince smiled and walked back over to the two of them. “So I was thinking, right, Saboo gave us this magical broach and a chant to go alongside it.” He unpinned the object from his shirt and held it up for the Hitcher to see. “What if we just change the chant?”

Howard’s face suddenly paled. “Wait a second, what time is it? What if we’re too late to complete the ritual?” He glanced around nervously.

Vince looked out the window and noticed that it was pitch black. “Wow, I didn’t realize time would really pass while we were in an alternate universe. How does that work?” he asked.

“You think I understand a thing about magic, boy?” the Hitcher said when he noticed Vince was looking to him for the answer. “My universe doesn’t even have anything like it!”

“It’s 11:45,” Howard broke in, clearly relieved. “Come on, let’s try out your plan, little man.”

Vince unfurled the piece of paper Saboo had given him and read the chant. “It’s really simple. This just says ‘Go back to where you came from, black magic.’”

“Well, that shouldn’t be hard to change,” Howard pointed out. “How about we add ‘and the Hitcher,’ and give it a go?”

“Sure! If that wouldn’t do it, I don’t know what would,” Vince replied. 

“If this doesn’t work, say goodbye to this universe forever, as I’ll be sending ya far, far away,” the Hitcher growled.

Vince opened his hands, holding them up to display the broach, and he smiled at Howard. “You ready?”

Howard smiled back, cupping his hands around Vince’s, and Vince shivered at the gentle touch.

“Go back to where you came from, black magic and the Hitcher,” the two of them chanted in unison.

There was a beat of silence, as the three people gazed at the unmoving broach. Then the magical object lit up in a bright beam, growing in strength until the room was entirely immersed in blinding light.

Removing a hand to shield his eyes from the light, Vince realized that he could no longer feel the weight of the broach in his palm. It must have disappeared with the spell.

With a snap, the light quickly receded, and Vince and Howard were finally alone in the Nabootique.

“Is the Hitcher actually gone?” Howard asked, almost in a daze.

“Yeah, it looks like it! I can’t believe it really worked!” Vince exclaimed, unable to stop himself from drawing the other man into a hug. “I couldn’t have done it without you!”

Howard’s arms tentatively reached up and slowly but firmly returned the hug. “Neither could I,” he murmured, his breath hot against Vince’s neck.

As they pulled back, a piece of paper appeared in the air and landed on the top of Vince’s head, and Howard quickly pulled it off and unfolded it.

“It’s from Saboo,” Howard read. “He says we’re off the hook.”

“So I guess the ritual must have successfully gotten rid of all the black magic, too,” Vince exclaimed. “Wait a minute! That means—” He bolted up the stairs as a thought struck him.

Bursting into his room, Vince threw open his closet door, hearing Howard’s muffled footsteps on the stairs. Looking inside, Vince started inspecting his clothing, laughing in pure relief as he noticed that the outfits were no longer damaged.

“Everything’s fixed!” Vince called to Howard, who entered the room holding his missing jazz record.

“It’s as though none of this was ever tampered with!” Howard exclaimed, before setting his record on Vince’s nightstand and sobering up. “Vince, about your clothes, you know I’d never…” he trailed off, awkwardly taking a seat on the bed and motioning to the rows of carefully hung outfits.

“Yeah, I know, Howard,” Vince said softly, closing his closet door and sitting next to Howard. “It was wrong of me to immediately accuse you. I should have let you explain.”

“Well, I should have let you explain about the record, too. And I shouldn’t have, uh, decided to leave, either,” Howard replied, twisting his hands together. “You...you matter to me quite a lot, Vince,” he said roughly. “If you’ll let me stay and give me another chance, I’d like to make it up to you.”

Vince’s eyes sparked with tears, and he tried to swallow the lump that rose in his throat. “Of course, Howard. I meant what I said earlier. I’ve fallen head over heels for you, and I don’t want you to go.” He laughed wetly and carefully placed a hand on Howard’s thigh. “I don’t think I’ve been good at showing it, though. But from now on, I swear I’ll listen if you have something to say to me.” 

He looked up at Howard, realizing the other man was also on the verge of tears.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Howard said thickly. “But perhaps we should leave that for another time, when we’re both in a better mindset. I can imagine that we’d both benefit from doing something lighthearted, after the day we’ve had.”

Vince took a deep breath and gazed into Howard’s eyes. “How about a kiss?”

Howard smiled back at Vince warmly. “Why stop at one?”


End file.
